The Bus Ride
by Gretchie
Summary: He was in love with her, and he didn't even know her name. Anna/Bates one-shot.


**_A/N: I am a MAJOR Tom/Sybil shipper. But this story sort of came to me. So this my tribute to Anna/Bates or Banna or Annates or whatever their ship name is. Imagine Bates at his grumpiest and Anna at her most reserved. I apologize for the similarity to both "Good Men Aren't Like Buses" by Downtonluvr and "Bus Stop" by Awesomegreentie. I've had this story written down for ages, and it was pure coincidence. (Great minds think alike!)_**

 ** _It's my birthday! Reviews would make my day!_**

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He was in love with her, and he didn't even know her name.

It had only been a few weeks. At least, a few weeks since John Bates had noticed her. The film convention had been going on, London's busiest time of the year. Producers and actors came from all over the world to present, hoping for a ticket to stardom. It made the everyday bus ride extremely difficult for the average commuter, shoved between cameras and divas.

It was this week where his cane gave him an advantage over the rest. The bus driver had a seat labeled 'handicapped'. Although Bates hated the term, this week he played the part fully. Having a comfortable seat was worth the pity looks he was to receive. Mr. Bates could seem quite formidable if he wanted to, and retaining the appearance of a grumpy codger ensured no one would ask to sit in the empty chair. Several people stood instead of approaching him.

Then she had stepped on.

She was small, jostled by the crowds of people pushing and shoving to get to their important destinations. Her eyes wandered, searching for a spot. Then they narrowed in on the only open chair next to him, obscured by the hat and coat he had put down to make it look like it was occupied. She looked directly at him, her eyes politely questioning.

He shifted his coat and hat onto his lap, grudgingly allowing her the spot. She squeezed past him and sat down, straightening the wrinkles on her skirt. Twenty-five minutes of silence between them passed with pedestrians and tourists getting on and off regularly. The driver called out a stop, and she stood up.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was a reflection of her self, light and fragile, so unlike his deep rumbling bass.

The next day, Bates saved her a seat, which she accepted. No words were exchanged. And so on, every day that week. He kept his coat and hat on the chair until she got on, and she squeezed passed him. Friday afternoon, he bid her good day as she rose to leave. She thanked him once more.

Monday morning, he unconsciously put his jacket on the seat next to him, reserving it before he realized that the bus was far less crowded. There were at least 10 empty seats, so there was no reason she would prefer to sit next to the cripple. He sadly moved his coat and pulled out a book, watching each person enter the bus even though he knew what stop she boarded on.

She was there, as punctual as ever. When she entered, she went straight to her usual spot, coughing slightly before he moved his legs so she could get by.

And thus it began.

Every day, without fail, she boarded the bus and sat next to him. Every day he noticed something special about her that he hadn't noticed before. She was always drawing in a little notebook, sketching numerous designs. Her hands trembled slightly, but the tremble vanished when she drew. She had a small scar above her left eyebrow. When she was concentrating, a sliver of tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth. She was very shy.

One day while moving past him to get to her seat, she stumbled. She collided with his bad knee. Bates involuntarily yelped, startling her. She apologized profusely and sat down, her face turning a bright red. He had wanted to assure her that it had not been her fault, but he felt awkward and decided to say nothing.

On one instance, there had been a particularly rowdy character sitting across the aisle. The man was complaining loudly about his troubles, broadcasting them to the entire bus when it was clear no one cared. He was using horribly foul language; words that would make a sailor cringe. He yelled at everyone who boarded, including her. She flinched and made her way to her seat.

Halfway through the ride, Bates looked to his left.

She was shaking. Her hands were white, clenching swaths of her skirt. Every time the man swore, she flinched. Her face was looking down, but Bates was almost certain she was crying. He felt a sudden surge of anger. Bates leaned across the aisle and said some choice words to the offensive man, shutting him up instantly.

Bates returned his attention to his left. He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket and offered it to her, placing it gently on her lap when her hand didn't reach out to take it. She clasped it tightly and dried her tears.

"How are you?"

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, with her head still down.

"It's quite alright, you needn't apologize." he replied. He made a mental reminder not to curse in front of her.

The next day she handed his handkerchief back, cleaned and ironed. It had the crisp, fresh smell of clean laundry that mixed with her usual scent of vanilla.

From then on, they were friends. Each was hesitant to converse. One sentence would stand, unchallenged for several minutes before a tentative reply was offered.

He watched one day as she sketched pastries and desserts.

"What are those for?"

She looked up at him, shyly. "I was hired to illustrate a children's book. They want pictures of pastries." She rattled off a few fancy French words. "It's a bit over the top, but it's work. I just can't seem to get them right."

He smiled at her warmly. "I think they look great. Personally though, I'd take an oatmeal cookie any day."

She smiled back and continued sketching, though Bates noticed she included a stack of cookies in the next drawing.

He had few chances to express that he enjoyed her company. Thinking on it, if he did tell her even a small glimpse of his feelings, he would likely come off as creepy. He was at least fifteen years her senior.

Bates did have an occasion to show that he cared. It was storming hard outside. A crowd of people huddled outside at the bus stop, waiting to get under a roof. She was last in line, probably because she was too nice to push ahead. She rummaged in her purse for the bus fare, and kept searching to no avail. Bates could see her plead with the driver, but he would not relent. The driver was closing the doors with her on the other side when Bates called out.

"I have the money for her ticket." He stood up and stepped into the aisle, producing a bill from his trouser pocket. Bates handed it to the bus driver, who grunted and accepted it. The doors were opened again and she was led inside, confused at the turn of events. She looked at Mr. Bates, and a look of realization came into her eyes.

Water droplets clung to her hair and coat as she smiled, a row of neat pearly teeth coming into view. That smile was enough compensation for Bates.

She tried to pay him back, but he refused to take any money, going so far as to slip the coins she gave him back into her purse.

The next day she climbed on the bus toting a plastic container. She offered it to him, blushing slightly as he accepted and opened it. A mountain of oatmeal cookies was stashed inside, along with a note expressing her thanks in tiny cursive. He handed a cookie to her and the two munched quietly.

Everyday, they saw each other.

And everyday, he fell more in love.


End file.
